


A Night at the Opera

by orphan_account



Series: young adult friction [9]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama, Gen, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform, Multi, Operas, i also thought they should actually get that night at the opera, in which enjolras and grantaire sort themselves out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 06:39:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Or: that time Musichetta lands herself the role of Carmen, Jehan the role of Don José, the amis go to see their performance, and Enjolras and Grantaire sort things out. Finally.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night at the Opera

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, I feel as though I owe you all an apology. It's been what seems like forever since I updated this series, and this is the result of my laptop blowing itself to shreds (losing all my data that _of course_ I didn't have backed up, because I'm an idiot), going back home for a month, attempting to sort out oersonal issues, and then some genius managing to restore all my data. So I have not, in fact, lost all my fic. But here we go.

“Opera.”

“Yes, opera.”

“I didn’t know you were the opera kind, Grantaire.”

“I’m actually more cultured than you think. Are you coming?”

“This is all very sudden. I can’t anyway; I’m busy that day.”

“Busy doing what? Besides, you have no choice. All the others are already going.”

Enjolras twists in his desk chair. “How come I’m always told last about things?”

“Because if we told you first you’d always say no.”

“I’m not that boring.”

“Yes you are.”

Enjolras shoots Grantaire a look, and Grantaire swallows down a grin. “You coming?”

“Which opera?”

“Carmen.”

Now Enjolras looks interested. “Why that one?”

“Musichetta’s playing Carmen. And Jehan is Don José.”

“I didn’t know Jehan was a tenor.”

“Neither did any of us. He’s constantly full of surprises.”

 

* * *

 

The tickets are ridiculously expensive but Courfeyrac is not going to let anyone miss “his beautiful baby boy on stage”, so on a busy Saturday night the eleven of them squeeze themselves past other, more elaborately dressed patrons and into their seats. Marius is on the left hand aisle, with Cosette next to him and Éponine next to her. Thanks to some scheming by Bahorel and Feuilly, next to her is Combeferre, and then Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Grantaire, Feuilly, Bahorel, Bossuet and finally Joly, who always prefers to have an aisle seat.

The curtains open and the orchestra begins the _Prelude_. Bahorel pulls out a packet of chips and opens them noisily, hand making unnecessarily loud movements as he pulls out a handful of chips.

The look Combeferre, Grantaire, Courfeyrac and Enjolras gives him is positively murderous, and he sheepishly drops the handful back in the bag, Feuilly and Bossuet stifling laughter beside him.

When Musichetta steps out in full costume, corset and fan and ruffled Spanish dress, ready to perform the _Habanera_ , Joly and Bossuet turn a weird purple shade and start grinning madly. Feuilly elbows Grantaire.

“Young love,” he snickers, and then a seat over, sees Jehan in his military uniform, Courfeyrac’s face, and sighs and turns to Bahorel.

Enjolras will give to Grantaire. Tonight definitely looks like it’s going to be worth it. Musichetta’s voice is strong and rings clear through the auditorium, and he doesn’t doubt that she very likely has a successful future career on the stage.

It’s when they’re on _Les Toréadors_ that Enjolras notices Grantaire is missing from his seat. Nudging Courfeyrac, he asks where he is. Courfeyrac replies that Grantaire mentioned a little while ago that he needed the toilet.

Which is frankly quite worrying to be honest, because that was probably a good half hour ago.

And damn if Enjolras isn’t feeling bad for not even having noticed.

 

* * *

 

He awkwardly manoeuvres his way past the others and into the aisle. He’s unfamiliar with this theatre, and isn’t entirely sure where the toilets would be. But there’s got to be signs or something somewhere.

As expected, Grantaire isn’t in the toilet. He isn’t in the lobby. He isn’t even in the building. In fact, Enjolras finds him outside the side entrance, casually smoking a cigarette and regarding the night sky with something that looks like wistfulness.

“I know you’re not actually looking at the stars. With this much light pollution, you can’t see anything anyway.”

Grantaire half snorts. “I can’t expect anything else from you, can I Enjolras?”

It’s then that Enjolras realises Grantaire has stopped calling him by various idiotic nicknames.

“You alright, R? You’re missing the opera.”

“It hurt too much to watch.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh come on, even you can’t be that blind. The rest of them have figured it out by now.”

Enjolras is only seventy percent sure he has no idea what Grantaire is talking about, and the rest of the thirty percent is sharply veering off into a direction he’d rather not go.

But sometimes in life there are situations that just need to occur, so Enjolras leans back against a railing, places both palms onto the cool metal, and calmly asks Grantaire, “is there something you need to talk to me about?”

“How do I know this time isn’t a fucking dream? The last two times I tried to have this conversation, I woke up shortly afterwards. The first time was to the smell of smoke. Am I going to wake up now to a serial killer standing over my bed with a maniacal grin and a butcher knife?”

“Just shut up and talk to me, Grantaire.”

There’s an awful pause, one long terrible second of silence that drags on for much longer than it should have, and then; “I’m in love with you.”

“I know.” Enjolras replies.

Grantaire turns sharply then, and then he starts laughing bitterly. It’s something straight out of one of Jehan’s tragic love films, and they both know it.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing Grantaire says after it becomes clear Enjolras can’t say anything else in that moment, and he twists the cigarette between his fingers, watching ash fall slowly to the ground. “I’ve tried to get over it. I really have. But you’re so... so... _you_ , and I’m me, and I don’t even know where we stand anymore.”

“You’re my friend.” Enjolras manages.

“And I want you to be more,” Grantaire whispers bitterly. “You’re... Achilles. I want to be Patroclus.”

“Patroclus died for Achilles.”

“Is that so terrible?”

“R, please listen to me. No, listen. _I love you._ I love you the way I love Combeferre, and Courfeyrac, and Joly and Feuilly and Bossuet and Bahorel and even Marius, with all his idiocies. I love you because you’re infuriating, and we argue often but in the end it doesn’t matter because you’re part of my family; and I can see the beauty in you just as I can see it in everyone else.”

Grantaire can’t meet his gaze, but merely looks down at his feet. “How come you never cared to mention this?”

“Because I’m an idiot and thought you already knew. I _have_ thought about us, possibly being more. But I just... I don’t have feelings for you in that way. I won’t lie to you, R, because I refuse to lie to my family. And I really don’t want the shadow of what could or couldn’t have been between us to negatively affect you for the rest of your life. You are _beautiful,_ Grantaire-” and Enjolras steps forward and takes Grantaire’s face between his hands and looks him straight in the eyes, “and I believe, I thoroughly believe, that you have what it takes to achieve _anything_ you want to achieve in this life. And I know that deep down, you know this as well. You believe in yourself.”

Enjolras is cursing every part of himself that felt as though he didn’t need to tell Grantaire this earlier, because it’s hitting him right then that Grantaire seeks his approval more than anything, and what has he done? Treated him downright terribly for a good portion of the time they’ve known each other. He feels the prick of tears against his eyelids, and then he’s aware that Grantaire is crying too, silent tears running down his face, taking deep, ragged breaths.

“But don’t you see, Enjolras? I believe in you. I live for _you.”_

“Then live because I want you to live, and because one day, you’ll understand that you live for yourself too.”

Grantaire drops the cigarette, and his shaking hands reach up over to clasp Enjolras' ones. He holds Enjolras’ hands to his face, and Enjolras can feel the sweat and unsteadiness of them. “I can’t change the fact that I’m still in love with you, and I’m still going to love you.”

“If you changed for me, Grantaire, I just want to say right now that I’d be very angry with you.” 

Grantaire lets out his breath with a gasp, and nods.

 

* * *

 

They return to their seats during a dance scene that Enjolras only half recognises, and Courfeyrac, bless his nature, discreetly moves seats to allow them to sit together.

He's not the Centre for nothing.

The opera brings most of the audience to tears, and at the finale, as Jehan sinks to his knees, confessing that he has killed the one he loved, Combeferre looks over at Enjolras and Grantaire, and if he notices Grantaire is clutching Enjolras’ hand so tightly both their fingers are white, he doesn’t comment on it.

He knows.

He's not the Guide for nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry if you wanted Enjolras and Grantaire to end up as a romantic pairing. I heavily considered it, but then decided that ultimately, I couldn't do them justice in this verse if I did. However, I hope that to you they get a reasonably satisfying resolution to most of their problems, either way. Sometimes you can't get everything that you want. But you have to learn to grow from that.
> 
> Thank you for reading/Merci de lire. There will be three more parts after this, and they have all been completed, so they should be all up fairly soon.
> 
> For fic notes, drabbles, questions and possible spin offs, hit me up at [tumblr](sassanids.tumblr.com).


End file.
